


Only Thinking

by DollopheadedMerlin



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Bastard Child, Depression, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Magic Reveal, Merlin!whump, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Whump, merlin whump, suicidal Merlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 15:24:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4142823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DollopheadedMerlin/pseuds/DollopheadedMerlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur struggles to understand what goes on beneath the surface of his best friend when it is revealed that something is deeply bothering Merlin, something that makes him hurt so much inside that he thinks he may be better off dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Thinking

 

He woke up; dazed and feeling uneasy, weak, feeble even. He couldn’t open his eyes all the way. His eyelids felt heavy and drooped when he tried to look around. He let his eyes slip close again and focused on his breathing. It felt like the weight of a thousand men were on his chest and his breaths were short, shallow, and painfully slow. He tried again to open his eyes. It was a bit easier than the last time, but he still couldn’t seem to open them all the way. He turned his head to the left. All he saw was the bare wall, his wardrobe, and an empty room. A glass of water was on his nightstand, but he didn’t want to move, not really. So, he turned his head back and stared at the ceiling for a few moments. His vision was blurry. The rafters that he normally would see blended in with the rest of the ceiling and all he saw was a big flush of brownish colors. It made him feel ill to look at something so far away, so he turned his head to the right. The first thing he noticed was his window, resting high above his desk and a large chest. The bright, white morning light flared at him and caused the backs of his eyes to hurt. He blinked heavily and looked away. His sight was wobbly for a few moments before it settled on a figure slumped over in a chair by his bedside. A few more blinks and he could make out his face, along with the tuff of blond hair that was thrown about his brow. It was Arthur.

That was a curious thing now, wasn’t it? Arthur, asleep by his bedside. It didn’t make a lick of sense. He was his servant, not the other way around. So, why was Arthur watching over him? His brain was slow and sluggish. He was having trouble thinking. He couldn’t understand why Arthur was in his room, or why he could hear the clink of glass in the distance, or why he felt so tired. After a short while of just staring at the royal figure before him, he thought out a plan. He needed to know why Arthur was here, and what better way was there to find out than ask him himself? So, he pushed himself up and found that his arms shook beneath his weight. They easily gave way and he slunk back down into his pillow. He tried again, using his elbows to inch his way into a somewhat vertical position. However, when he was satisfied with his arrangement, he found that he’d forgotten how to speak. He opened his mouth slightly for a short second but closed it after realizing that he frankly just didn’t have the energy to form any words. So, he took a look around again. He could see the door to his room now and the blurred silhouette of someone mixing potions and grinding tinctures. He assumed it was Gaius. He wondered what he was making and for whom. Then he thought that it might be for him. Perhaps it was a stimulant to help him with his sudden fatigue? Or maybe it was eye drops for his vision? He didn’t know, though. He didn’t really care and then began to wonder why he had been thinking about that at all.

A long while passed and he just sat there, forgetting to think and just starring out at nothing. The only thing to break him from such a faze was to hear the old physician cough. He blinked his eyes a few times until he could make out the picture of Gaius with his face in his sleeve. He looked back to Arthur, to see if he’d wake. He didn’t. His mind journeyed back to his original question. Why was Arthur here? He must have been stubborn the night before. Gaius would’ve never advised him to spend the night perched up in a chair. It wasn’t good for one’s back, so Merlin had been told time and time again when he’d woken up to the fatherly face of his guardian and himself sat in a chair or stool or bench. Come to think of it, why would Arthur want to sleep in such a way? He was the king. Certainly he would rather be in the comforts of his luxurious bed, would he not? The only time Arthur ever spent the night at Gaius’s was when someone he cared about was injured. His mind sparked at that. Was someone injured? Was it Gwen? Was it one of the knights? Why was he not informed? He could be helping. He tried to sit up again, eager to aid Gaius in healing whomever it was that needed the attention. But he quickly flopped back down onto the pillows, unable to hold himself up.

Oh. It was him. He was the one that needed aid. He wished he had the strength to smack himself for not noticing earlier. He must have been hit pretty bad to have not realized how weak he really was. But, his head didn’t hurt, so it wasn’t a blow to the head. Perhaps it was a spell, something that drained his energy. No. He would’ve felt the magic and he didn’t feel anything out of the ordinary, other than the sheer lack of strength. There must be something else wrong. He willed his mind to move faster and think harder but it just wouldn’t. After a few moments of blind thinking and being distracted by Gaius’s bottled clinking for a bit, he decided that he had to look and see what was wrong.

He looked down at his chest. Nothing seemed wrong. His tunic was still on and he couldn’t see any rips or tears, not the slightest hint of a bandage poked out from anywhere. He looked to his arms but was frustrated to see them mostly covered by his blankets. It was then that he noted how cool he felt and that there were many, many blankets and sheets atop of him. He slowly wriggled one arm out from the covers and eventually freed it. Nothing seemed wrong. He wiggled his fingers a bit to make sure that they worked and were all there. Though they shook when they move, they did, in fact, move. So he huffed, agitated that he hadn’t found what was wrong, and reach over his torso to his left arm. He tugged at the sheets until he was able to sneak his hand out. His eyes widened a bit at the sight of a bandage wrapped around his palm.

He eagerly sat up a bit more and grabbed his own sleeve to reveal what was beneath. However, a sudden, unexplainable feeling of dread came over him as he slowly struggled to pull his sleeve up and over his arm. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and his hand shook more and more as he pulled and tugged at his sleeve. Gradually, oh so painfully slowly, he uncovered it. Beneath the bandages, he could guess, was a long, deep slit in his wrist, and some blood from it still stained the white cloth.

His chin quivered and he sobered up real quick. Why? That was the only question that popped into his head. He shook more and more and more and soon he found the strength to make noise, soft, quiet noises that grew into a low sob and he clutched at his own wrist. He couldn’t believe that he’d done it. He didn’t want to. He wanted to wake up. He never wanted this to happen and yet, what else could have happened. He knew that he’d thought about it before but he never actually wanted to. He would never leave Arthur behind! He could never abandon his destiny! He could never abandon his friendship! Could he? But he did! He right out went and did it! And it killed him! His heart clenched and his stomach turned at the thought of someone finding him. Who had found him? Had it been Arthur? Oh god, if it had been Arthur he would never forgive himself! He couldn’t stand to think of him finding him somewhere all alone and bleeding out. It would kill him! He gripped his wound tighter and tighter, causing himself more pain willing for it to be enough to make him wake up from whatever sick dream he was in! But he didn’t! He didn’t wake up! The pain just became more and more real and eventually he couldn’t hold himself together anymore and he let out a long, desperate moan; a cry, a plea for it all to not be real.  

Arthur sputtered awake and his eyes darted about the room before he’d found Merlin doubled over himself and nearly tipping off the edge of his bed. He was on his feet in an instant and stretched his arm over Merlin’s back and pulled his close, trying to unravel his servant.

“No, no, no, no,” Merlin sobbed into his hand. He had brought his knuckles to his mouth to try and muffle his own cries. He didn’t want Arthur to worry. He didn’t want Arthur to see the wounds again. He didn’t want to hurt Arthur anymore.

“Merlin!” Arthur called out. “Merlin! You’re going to hurt yourself! Let go!” He tugged and yanked at Merlin’s right hand, trying to pry it off of his wound, which had broken open again and begun to bleed.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin mumbled into his twisted fingers once Arthur had torn his hands apart. “I didn’t mean . . . god, Arthur. No, no. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Arthur reeled back a moment. He couldn’t fathom why Merlin was apologizing. It wasn’t his fault. But then he realized. He realized the way the Merlin clutched his wrist to his chest and had such a hopeless desperate look in his eyes that felt lost and misplaced. He realized why Merlin was so hysterical. He realized what Merlin thought.

“No, Merlin! No!” Arthur cried. “Merlin this wasn’t you!” He snatched Merlin’s injured arm and shook it to try and grab his friend’s attention. “You didn’t do this Merlin! Remember? It was the sorcerer! This wasn’t you! You didn’t do it!”

Merlin didn’t seem to hear him at first. He just continued to mumble and cry, trying to curl in on himself until he disappeared. But his watery eyes soon found Arthur’s and he noticed the way he shook his arm and how determined he looked. He began to try and listen to his master’s words and, though he couldn’t remember what they were for the life of him, he knew what they meant.

“What?” he breathed, barely audible.

“You didn’t do this to yourself, Merlin,” Arthur said calmly. “You were taken, remember?” Arthur’s eyes looked worried and frantic. They flickered back and forth between Merlin and somewhere behind him. “You were gagged, right? _They_ strapped you down, not you, alright?”

Merlin just sat there shaking. He didn’t remember any of it. How could it be true if he didn’t remember? He thought Arthur was lying. He wanted it to be a dream just as much as he did. “No,” Merlin squeaked. “Why –“ He didn’t know what to say.

“Yes,” Arthur protested, still frequently looking behind Merlin. “Yes, you were taken, Merlin. We found you. The sorcerer had you on an altar. He needed blood for something, remember? Hmm?”

Merlin willed himself to recall what Arthur was telling him but he couldn’t. However, his mind began to clear and he realized that he didn’t remember mutilating himself either. He didn’t remember anything. In fact, he couldn’t quite place where his memory left off. It was all a fuzz. He didn’t know what to think. He didn’t know if he remembered _how_ to think. He just sat there, shaking, and staring back at Arthur, eyes wide.

“Breathe, Merlin,” Arthur said after a few moments. Then Merlin realized that he had been holding his breath. He gasped and gapped for a few moments. He looked Arthur up and down and became aware that he was clutching tight onto Arthur’s arms. He let go and pulled his wrist back to his chest. The room was so silent. All Merlin could hear were Arthur and his own baited breaths. He looked down at his bandages and plucked at the corners of it with his thumb as he looked down at the blood stains.

Arms were suddenly around his shoulders and he was being guided back against his pillow. He looked up to see that Gaius was standing on the other side of the bed. “We need to get you new sutures for that now,” he told him as he eased Merlin up to the head of the bed. Gaius left for a moment before he returned with fresh bandages and other supplies. And a knife.

Merlin clutched his bed sheets at the sight of the thing. He wasn’t sure why. He didn’t think to do it; it just happened. Arthur seemed to notice and he placed his hand on Merlin’s shoulder. Gaius gestured for Merlin to lend him his hand and said, but Merlin didn’t move. He had forgotten how. So Gaius lifted Merlin’s arm up himself. Merlin’s muscles tensed as Gaius brought his arm away from him. When the physician lifted the knife to the boy’s hand he flinched and yanked his arm back into place, pressed against his chest.

“Gaius,” Arthur warned, sternly.

“Alright,” Gaius sighed. “We’ll do it the long way, then. Give it here.” He pulled at Merlin’s arm again and held it steady on his knees. He picked at the end of the bandage and began to slowly unravel it from Merlin’s hand. When it came down his wrists he moved even slower, peeling away the fabric from pink flesh. And Then Merlin saw it. He saw the dark red line that was elevated off of his skin. It was hard to miss the way he shuddered, gazed sinking into the sight of the bloodied stitches.

Merlin didn’t move, besides his involuntary jitters, as Gaius carefully undid any of the broken or loosened stitches and replaced them with new ones. He just stared. It didn’t even seem like he could see anything. Arthur confirmed that when he didn’t move even after Gaius had left his side. His eyes were blank and wide.

When Gaius did return, he was with a remedy. He uncorked it and warned Merlin that it would hurt, though he didn’t seem to notice. With a worrisome glance towards Arthur, Gaius lathered the water paste onto Merlin’s wound. “Ah!” Merlin gasped the moment it began to mingle with his blood. He hissed in pain and gripped at his arm again. Gaius smacked his hand away and finished the treatment before rewrapping his arm.

Placing Merlin’s hand gently back down next to his side, Gaius left, noticing the frantic look on Arthur’s face. Arthur leaned forward the moment Gaius had shut the door and put his hand on Merlin’s good arm to get his attention. Merlin didn’t move for a few moments. It were as if it took time for him to register that he had been touched. Then, he looked up at Arthur with round, blue eyes.

“Do you remember anything?” Arthur asked.

Merlin’s mouth hung open but he didn’t say anything.

“You lost a lot of blood, Merlin,” Arthur told him. “I don’t blame you if you don’t remember.”

“No,” Merlin answered quietly.

Arthur’s eyes flicked down towards the wound, mind wondering why his stupid, clumsy friend, _Merlin,_ would even think that it was his own doing. When looked back at Merlin’s face, he too was glaring at his wrist, before returning to look at Arthur’s eyes.

“What happened?” Merlin asked. There was little emotion in his voice any longer and it pained Arthur to hear him speak.

“Not now,” Arthur said. “I’ll tell you when you’re better rested.” And, truthfully, Merlin did look tired; bloodshot eyes, dark circles, pale skin, all the signs of exhaustion at their worst.

Merlin, again, said nothing. He simply looked at Arthur. He felt tired. Normally, he would protest and whine until he was given the explanation that he wanted but, today, he feared that, if he was to be told now, he would soon forget it. His memory was not something he trusted for the moment and he wished to hear the story in full when his mind was fully awake.

He couldn’t remember when he had closed his eyes, or if Arthur was still in the room. All he knew was that, somehow, he had fallen asleep. And he was grateful for it.

 

 

He woke again. Arthur was still there. He felt better rested. His breathing was a much simpler task than it had been before. Arthur was awake this time. Merlin thought about how ironic it was that Arthur had been asleep when he had woken during the day and, now that it appeared to be night, he was alert and readied.

“Merlin!” Arthur said with a sad smile.

Merlin smiled back at him weakly. He opened his mouth to speak but it was dry and made clicking noise as he pulled his lips apart. It was hard for Arthur not to notice it, along with the way his lips had chapped and cracked.

He quickly reached over Merlin for the glass of water and helped his friend sit up. Neither of them said anything as the king served his servant, pouring water down his throat. When he was done, Merlin swallowed once more and looked at Arthur. It seemed that his brow was permanently sewn up in worried wrinkles. Merlin let out a huff through his nose at the thought. Then, he took a deep breath. “Thank you,” he said.

It was silent then. Merlin looked down at Arthur’s hands as they tightened and loosened in and out of fists. Arthur just kept up his worried projection, hovering over him, almost protectively.

“What happened?” Merlin finally said, looking up at Arthur attentively.

Arthur sat back and looked Merlin up and down. “Still no memory?”

Merlin shook his head, “No.”

“We were on patrol,” Arthur explained. “A band of sorcerers ambushed us, threw us off our horses. They seemed strangely keen on taking you. They drugged you, gagged you, bound you, and took you away. The knights and I were all stunned for at least an hour. We were lucky we managed to keep most of our horses, else we might not have caught up with them in time.”

“In time?” Merlin asked.

“When we found them,” Arthur croaked, “they had taken you to some old tower in the forest, practically ruined. We found you inside. They had you strung up on an altar. You were bleeding . . . over a basin. It looked like some sort of ritual.”

“I don’t . . .” Merlin started. “I don’t even remember the patrol.”

Arthur nodded and the wrinkles on his brow increased and he let out a breath through his nose.

“Well,” Arthur said, “we killed all the sorcerers.” He let out a forced laugh. “Can’t allow anyone to assault the most _respected_ servant in all of Camelot, now can we?” It was a try at the usual banter, but the vigor was missing from it.

Merlin huffed. “How respected, exactly?” Merlin asked. His voice was monotone, though it was meant to be a sarcastic jibe. Merlin couldn’t seem to muster up the strength to put any art into his voice. However, if Arthur noticed, he ignored it.

“Oh,” Arthur mused, “your name is heard throughout all of England! Merlin; the most disobedient, irritant, sluggish servant to ever live!”

Merlin laughed a bit, but it was quiet. He began to nod his head towards sleep as he retorted; “Only because of how _poorly_ his master treats him!”

Arthur huffed, but his smile slipped from his face and, though Merlin barely thought it possible, the worry lines on his brow multiplied even more.

Struggling to stay conscious, Merlin lifted his head up and stuck out his chin so that he looked at Arthur more square on. He took another heavy breath and nodded towards his king as if to let him know that he was alright.

Arthur’s smile reappeared for a fraction of a second before his frown took over again. It was silent once more and Merlin was more tempted than ever to slip away.

“Why would you . . .” Arthur started, but he couldn’t finish. He wanted to believe it less than Merlin did. He could never imagine such a foolish, giddy boy hurting himself like that, not Merlin.

“I wouldn’t,” Merlin answered. “Arthur, I would never . . .” He took a shuddering breath. “I would never do that to you.”

Arthur’s brow rose in surprise. To him? Merlin was somehow depressed enough to think that he would harm himself and all he was worried about was Arthur? The king couldn’t fathom it. A pit formed in his stomach as he thought about all the things that could possibly cause Merlin to feel this way. Was it him? Did he really treat Merlin that badly? He never meant to harm him in any way. It was always all in good fun, wasn’t it? He needed to say something, something to let Merlin know that he never meant all the terrible things he’s said. “Merlin I . . .” but he was already asleep.

 

 

“Regardless, he needs to eat. The next time he wakes, we need to get as much food into him as possible.”

“I know, I know. But Gaius, you didn’t see him when he first woke. He was hysterical!”

“I understand that. Let us just focus on one thing at a time.”

“How can I focus on feeding him bloody broth when he’s dying inside?”

“You can ask Merlin questions later, once he’s well. But, for now, we might want to concentrate on keeping him alive.”

“Gaius! He thought that he did that to himself! He thought that he . . . He thought that he’d tried to take his own life. I can’t just let that go. Something’s bothering Merlin, really, rightfully _bothering_ him. I need to know what’s wrong. I need to fix this.”

“I fear that it is not in your power to fix, Sire.”

There was a silence.

“You know? You’ve known that he’s felt like this?”

“No, no. It’s simply that—“

“What?”

“That Merlin is very kept to himself. His problems are very personal, Sire. He prefers to sort things out on his own. I doubt he’ll be willing to confess his sorrows to even you.”

Merlin cleared his throat to announce that he was awake. He offered Arthur a smile but all he got in return was yet another brow crease. Merlin wasn’t sure how much Arthur reckoned that he heard, but it was easy to tell that he was nervous because of it.

Arthur said nothing to him as he sat down on a stool to his left and pulled a bowl of broth off of the bedside table and held it out. “Eat,” he ordered as he held out a spoonful of the grey mush that was somehow allowed to be called food.

Merlin didn’t obey, not at first. He was hesitant to eat from the king’s hand. It wasn’t right for Arthur to be serving him. It was as if his destiny had been twisted and tangled until nothing was where it should be and the positions were flopped; Arthur looking out for Merlin, keeping him from harm.

“Eat,” Arthur demanded once more and he brought the spoon to Merlin’s mouth. Merlin was obedient and parted his lips for the food. Arthur brought his other hand up to support Merlin’s head as he fed him the much needed meal, carefully balancing the bowl in his knees.

Gaius left them and no words were spilled as Arthur determinedly emptied the bowl into Merlin’s stomach, until there was no sign of it ever being full. The whole while Merlin had watched Arthur and the way that he wouldn’t look at him. He noticed the hitched breaths his king would take from time to time, holding back something; a tear or a word, it didn’t matter. His mind was set on the task. He wanted Merlin safe. He wanted Merlin well. He wanted Merlin to feel wanted.

The royal grimaced as he scrapped the last spoonful past Merlin’s teeth. “I’ll be sure to ask the kitchens to prepare something more tasteful next time,” he assured Merlin.

Merlin nodded. He had nothing to say.

“Gaius says you’ll be fine within the next fortnight,” Arthur informed. “As long as the wound heals accordingly, all that’s keeping you in bed is your lack of strength.”

Another nod. Merlin eyed Arthur, noting the way his eyes flickered down towards where his injured wrist lay beneath the blankets. Merlin followed his gaze and found himself in a prolonged stare towards the lump in the sheets as well.

He seemed to forget where he was for a short spell of time, but, when he looked back up at Arthur, his eyes were glazed over with unshed tears. However, the moment Merlin’s eyes met his, the king abruptly stood and left.

Merlin didn’t hear Arthur’s voice for days after that. He only ever spoke to Gaius and, when the young ward did wake to the sight of his king, he would promptly leave.

 

 

The moment Gaius had allowed it, Merlin was on his feet and back to work. He was still unbelievably pasty and his veins were rather prominent at times. He tired easily and Gaius warned his ward not to lift anything heavy until he was fully recovered. After a lecture about making sure that he ate enough and stayed hydrated that seemed to drag on forever, Merlin threw on his jacket and sped out the door, eager for things to return to normal.

His strides were long and vigorous as he sped through the halls of Camelot. However, halfway up his first flight of stairs, Merlin found that he was, in fact, rather prone to fatigue. So he trudged up steps and paced through the halls until he had reached his destination.

Merlin stopped outside the door, breakfast tray in hand, and listened. There was no sound on the other side of the door. The king was still asleep.

Placing the well prepared meal on the table, Merlin threw open the curtains and hollered “Rise and shine!” to wake his king.

Arthur sputtered and wriggled around beneath his blankets. He eventually found his wits somewhere under there and tossed the sheets off of him, looking at Merlin wide eyed. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m waking you up,” Merlin replied plainly. “I thought that was obvious.” He grinned.

“You should be resting,” Arthur protested.

“No,” said Merlin. “Gaius said I could return to work.”

“I didn’t,” Arthur said, glaring at Merlin as he rummaged through his wardrobe.

“You’re not the physician,” Merlin mumbled, pulling out a suitable outfit for the day.

“Fine,” Arthur said as he stood. He marched over to the changing screen and began to strip off his night clothes. Merlin hung his prepared attire over the screen and Arthur snagged it to pull it on.

Merlin kept his smile plastered bright and shining in between his cheeks. He was nervous. Arthur had been avoiding him. It had to end, though. He needed Arthur back. He needed to be able to return to his duties. He couldn’t stand being bedridden.

“Breakfast!” Merlin piped when Arthur steeped out from behind the screen.

Arthur nodded and took a seat at the table. “Thank you, Merlin,” he responded, but it was said with warmth, free of the usual sarcasm.

Merlin blushed. He knew he should appreciate Arthur finally being respectful of him, but it wasn’t right, at least not with the reasoning behind it. Merlin wasn’t sure if Arthur was just feeling sorry for him or if he was genuinely just dropping the normal act.

Merlin wondered over to the bed and tugged the covers back into place. He was fluffing and messing with the pillows when he realized that his feet felt strange. They felt airy, almost as if they were numb. He supposed it was an effect of the blood loss he had suffered. He cringed at the thought and rubbed his arm assumingly, reminding himself that the incident was in the past.

When he was done, he wondered over to where Arthur had just finished eating. He went to pick up his tray, but as he made to put the pitcher of water in its place, it toppled over, bringing the tray and dishes down with it in a loud clang.

Merlin winced at his own clumsiness, then again when he saw Arthur’s wide eyed expression, like he was worried. Merlin hurriedly bent down to retrieve the dropped silvers, eager to assure Arthur that he was indeed okay. However, to his dismay, when he went to stand back up, the world began to spin and the dishes crashed back onto the floor in a clatter.

Arthur was quick on his feet, arms flung out to catch his swaying servant from falling on his back. Merlin would have pushed him away and insisted that he needed no help, but he did and he knew it. The room wavered dangerously around him and he had trouble depicting which direction anything was in. He clutched onto Arthur’s sleeve as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to clear his mind. Arthur put Merlin back on his feet but kept a precautious hand on his friend’s arm as he still jittered slightly in the legs.

“Merlin,” Arthur warned, looking into the servant’s dazed eyes.

Blinking rapidly, Merlin finally made the room still and answered him. “I’m fine.”

“Merlin,” Arthur said again, with just as much sincerity, “you lost a lot of blood. I think you should go back to your own room and get a bit more rest.”

“No,” Merlin denied. “I’m fine. Lightheaded is all.”

Arthur frowned. “Really, Merlin. You practically bled out. Have you still not remembered anything?”

Merlin looked down at his hands, fingers toying with the end of his shirt. “I have.” It was true. Over the past few nights he’d been plagued by nightmares, memories of what had happened.

“You didn’t recall any of them saying _why_ they had taken you?”

“No.” The response was far too quick. It was a lie and Arthur could easily tell. He gripped Merlin’s shoulder tighter as the boy adverted his eyes. Arthur opened his mouth, wanting to urge Merlin into telling him, but he thought better of it. Instead, realizing that his servant just wanted for things to return to normal, he playfully pushed Merlin’s shoulder out of his grasp.

“Fine,” he smirked, “but, if you insist on getting back to work, don’t expect the load to be any lighter than usual!”

Merlin looked up, light in his eyes renewed.

“I need you to polish my sword, scrub my boots, mend my armor, tend to my horse, and,” he added, “you can start by cleaning the floor.” He nodded towards the cold surface beneath his feet.

Merlin groaned but could not hide the relief in his voice when he said, “Of course!”

The servant went about his duties, starting by crouching down to pick up the tray he had dropped, making sure to keep his head up and move more slowly in order to avoid another incident. Arthur found that the worry had resurfaced in his heart when he watched the boy kneel, praying he wouldn’t topple over like the pitcher had. He didn’t and Merlin took to dishes back to the kitchens.

The awaited company returned with a rag and bucket in hand, finding the king sat at his desk before a pile of papers. Arthur didn’t miss the tired look on Merlin’s face as he entered the room or the way his arm shook under the weight of the bucket, both features quickly hidden when a smile was painted on and the container was dropped promptly on the floor.

Arthur watched Merlin for a short while as he scrubbed away at the grime on the floor. He held his gaze for a few moments to be sure that he wasn’t in any major pain from preforming the task. Then, he returned to his papers. He tried desperately to get lost in his work, he really did, but there was nothing that could distract him from Merlin’s white lie. He knew he had remembered something of importance, regarding why it was he who they captured, but he wouldn’t tell. Arthur needed to know. Out of all his knights and he, the sorcerers had chosen him, and they _wanted_ him. They set out to steal Merlin in particular. Was it because he was the weakest? Perhaps they thought a servant would not be missed and would have more time to preform whatever ritual they had set because no search party would be sent out. But none of it made sense to Arthur. Those sorcerers were determined. There was something _about_ Merlin that they needed.

Eventually it was too much. Arthur had to know. He sighed, aware that curiosity would be the death of him, and made his way over to where Merlin was washing away. Merlin was startled when the king sat down next to him on the floor, back against the wall as he cleaned the corner near the fire.

“Merlin,” Arthur breathed, looking at him with sad eyes.

“Yes,” Merlin responded, not looking away from his work.

“Merlin,” Arthur repeated warmly. He reached forward and stole the scrub from Merlin’s hand. Merlin let out a small noise of protest as he threw the rag back into the water bucket, before resting back against the wall.

Merlin’s eyes bulged. Arthur had him boggled.

“Sit with me,” Arthur requested, gesturing to a spot on the floor beside him.

Merlin sagged and slid back against the wall next to his king. Arthur smiled and mused at his servant. His sight was not something you would call of work of art. He was thin, even more so than usual. His skin was a sallow, sickly color and his lips, nose, ears, and eyes were oddly tinted pink. But that’s not what Arthur was looking at. He was looking at the way Merlin hid it all; the way he sat up, straight as ever, despite Arthur knowing that he’d rather be slumped over on the floor. The boy was exhausted and he looked it. Yet he still insisted on putting on a show of strength for Arthur’s sake.

“Merlin,” Arthur said again, and the boy in question thought he was going to tear off his ears if he said his name one more time. He wanted Arthur to get to the point so that they could move on. He hated this. All of it. It was so abnormal. Their bickering was all but nonexistent. Arthur was gentle with him, like he should not be. He wanted the old Arthur back. The one that shoved him around and shouted to the high heavens how insolent he was. The one that laughed at his mistakes and threw jibes at him every which way. But he wasn’t and it made Merlin sick to know why.

“Tell me what you remembered,” Arthur said in a calm, comforting tone.

Merlin let out a long sigh. “I remember the patrol now,” he recited. “I remember the sorcerers ambushing us and seeing you and the knights getting knocked out. I was pulled off my horse and they drugged me. Then, I was out.” He gulped.

“And what of the tower?” Arthur inquired, knowing that he had recalled more.

“I woke up strapped to the altar,” Merlin said, having trouble not making his voice crack. “All the sorcerers were talking around me. It all goes fuzzy after that.”

“Did you hear anything that they said?”

“No,” Merlin lied.

Arthur hummed. “Are you sure?”

This time, Merlin hesitated, but the answer remained the same; “No.”

A small growl slipped past Arthur’s lips. “I know you’re lying, Merlin.”

Merlin bowed his head.

“Just,” Arthur stammered, trying not to lose his temper, “just tell me.”

Merlin swallowed, looked back up and Arthur, then looked away again.

“They,” he stammered, “they needed me specifically.”

“Why?”

“I—they needed—mmm.” Merlin just couldn’t bring himself to say it. Arthur noticed the tears in his eyes, despite him trying to look away and hide his sorrowful mug.

“Please, Merlin,” Arthur pleaded. “I need to know what happened.”

Merlin sniffled, then swallowed, then sniffed again. It would be a mystery to no one that this was difficult for Merlin, for whatever reason. “They needed two things. They needed the blood from someone that had . . .” he hesitated, temping himself to say it, “two specific characteristics.”

Arthur sighed. “What do you mean?”

“They had to be . . .” Merlin gulped. He looked back at Arthur once more. He knew he had to tell him something. He couldn’t just leave him in the dark. He looked away again before he sputtered, “They needed the blood of a _bastard!”_ His voice cracked terribly as the damned word flung off his tongue.

Arthur tensed. He had all but forgotten that unfortunate fact about his friend. It shocked him to hear it. No one would expect someone as cheerful as Merlin to be the result of something so subordinate and bile, especially after having met his mother, who seemed not like the type of person who would ever conceive without a marriage.

“Merlin I—“ But Arthur stopped. Oh. He mulled it over in his mind. He never thought that Merlin would ever think to end his own life, to think himself so worthless. However, Merlin had just provided him with a motive for such a belief. “Is that why you . . .” He didn’t dare finish.

“What?” Merlin questioned, not realizing what Arthur was imposing.

“Merlin,” Arthur addressed him. “Merlin, that doesn’t define you. You must know that.” Arthur found a welt of sadness creeping up his own throat then. He struggled to keep it down.

“I-I know,” Merlin replied. It was true. And it hadn’t been the main thing that bothered his constant conscious mind. Though, it had contributed to his harmful thoughts from time to time, considering his experiences with the cursed word.

“Did people from your village know?” Arthur asked, a protectiveness ringing in his voice, as if he were ready to bash in the faces of anyone who dared to utter such a word to Merlin and wring out their necks before leaving them out to dry.

“Y-yes,” Merlin replied. He was thankful that Arthur had forgotten to mention that he hadn’t told of what the other factor needed for the ritual was for. But that thought soon slipped from his mind as memories from Ealdor crept into its place.

A silence plagued them and they felt as though they had been there for hours. Arthur watched in fretful muteness as Merlin stared at the floor, reliving the awful things that have happened to him.

“Why would you . . .” Arthur suddenly asked, bringing Merlin out of it, “. . . just because they . . . Is that why you thought that?”

“No!” Merlin denied, it was partially true. “But, back in Ealdor . . . You can’t know what it’s like to be hated for something you can’t help, for something that isn’t even your fault.” Merlin was talking about more than just his family plague, though Arthur didn’t know it. “Ealdor is small. Everyone knows everybody. They talked about me; the only _bloody bastard child_ in Ealdor.” Merlin was shaking now, anger and sorrow mingling together within his heart. “No man’s child was allowed to speak with me. Mothers kept their sons away as if it were a _plague._ The only time another boy would ever speak to me is when they were spitting in my face! And they spoke about my mother. I don’t think they knew I could hear, either that or they didn’t care. They called her a _whore,_ Arthur! In front of her child!” Merlin’s voice hitched and he struggled not to sob but was barely successful.

Arthur didn’t know what to say. His heart reached out to Merlin. He wanted to be able to help but he just couldn’t sympathize with him. He too had lost a parent but he wasn’t a _bastard._  He didn’t have to live with the ridicule and belittlement that Merlin had suffered through, probably _still_ suffers through.

“And they beat me,” Merlin added shyly after a prolonged pause, barely loud enough to hear. But Arthur caught it and his heart raged with fire at the words. “They would catch me on the way home or in the woods and they would . . .” He trailed off, sobs returning with a new vigor, shoulders bobbing and heaving in despair. “I hid in the caves,” he explained nasally. “I would disappear for days sometimes. My mother would worry but she could get no one to help her to look for me. I’d only come back when my stomach couldn’t take it any longer. Eventually I wasn’t allowed to leave the house, she feared for me so much. That’s why she always did the field work.”

“Merlin . . .” Arthur hushed, putting and arm around the young man’s shoulder. Merlin cried into him, desperate for an escape from the memories. He clutched onto the king’s shirt as if to hold himself there. After a few, somber moments, Arthur took Merlin’s shoulders in his hands and squared him so that he could look into his eyes. “Merlin,” he assured, “I want you to know that you will never get that here. I will make sure of that. If anyone has or does say or do anything like that to you, I need to you to come to me. You are safe here. You must know that.”

Shaking, Merlin nodded vigorously before he dove back into Arthur’s shoulder to cry. The king could feel the jagged breaths heaving in and out of Merlin in violent sobs. They remained like that for a long while, oblivious to the world moving on without them, people going about their day. Eventually, Arthur’s mind began to work and he listened again to Merlin’s words as he replayed them in his mind. He caught something.

“Merlin,” he whispered, tenderly to keep the boy calm. His chest had relaxed and he was merely leaning on Arthur now with teary eyes. “What was the second thing the sorcerers needed?”

Merlin didn't look at him. He just shook his head.

"What?" Arthur questioned, desperation in his tone.

But Merlin just refused again, shaking his head more vigorously and staring at the floor with a helpless expression.  "No," he squeaked, "no, please."

Arthur stopped, his mind reeling. How could there be something worse?  Merlin had been beaten, broken, ridiculed, and hidden away in fear of everyone, even _children._ How could there be something worse? Something so horrid that it seemed to pain him just to _think about it!_ Arthur could not believe that the cheerful man he knew was the same one that lied before him in a broken heap, clinging onto him and burying himself in his shoulder to muffle his torturous cries. There was something _bothering_ his friend, and made Arthur’s heart ache.

Then, suddenly Arthur's mind started moving again. He looked down at Merlin desperately and pulled him closer, held him tighter. In that moment, as he held onto his dear, old friend as if his life depended on it, Arthur made it his duty to keep Merlin safe. He vowed that he could never be hurt or left alone again. Arthur would be there for him, just as he was now, holding onto him.

 

 

Merlin wouldn't miss him. Arthur had given him three days off after returning from a hunting trip that was rather strenuous for him in his weakened state. The boy refused, of course, but Gaius too advised that he should gain some additional rest. So, he reluctantly complied. That way Arthur didn’t have to worry about his friend whilst he left the city.

He was headed for Ealdor. He would be able to reach the village within a day’s ride if he rode hard and steady, which he was. He approached the Town while it was still light, in fact, sun hanging low in the sky.

No one paid any mind to him as he entered the settlement, dressed in peasant’s clothes as he was. He slipped from his horse and tethered it near a patch of grass outside an old, common home.

His knock was greeted with the gentle face of a familiar woman, who beamed up at him with surprise. “Arthur!” she cried. “What brings you here? Where is Merlin?”

Arthur smiled warmly down at her. “I’m afraid he’s not here.”

Hunith suddenly looked slightly concerned. “Has something happened?”

Arthur sighed. “He’s fine. I came on my own. I was hoping that we could talk.”

Merlin’s mother gave him a sad smile. “Of course,” she said. “You are always welcome here, Arthur.”

She beckoned him in and he stepped inside, feeling downright improper within the cramped up place that Hunith called home. But he tried to conceal his discomfort. This was where Merlin lived, where Merlin suffered. This was where Merlin, beaten and alone, hid away from the ignorant villagers outside, fearing for his life. He was only safe there, within those walls, where no one could bother him and he could just shut them all out. Arthur had to conform to it, he felt he needed to.

Hunith offered Arthur a stool and he took it, sitting beside the fire. Merlin’s mother disappeared for a few moments before returning with a bowl of broth for the king. She held it out to him as she sat down.

“No,” he sighed. “I can’t take anything from you.”

Hunith hummed in understanding and took a spoonful of the meal herself before setting it aside. “Why is Merlin not with you?” she wondered, looking at her son’s master with sad eyes.

Arthur exhaled a deep, revealing breath. The kind of wind you let out just before you’re about to let everything go. Then he looked away from the fire and into Hunith’s eyes and said, “Merlin told me everything.”

Hunith sat back in surprise as he told her this. She looked worriedly at Arthur, trying to see through him, to see how Merlin was. “What happened?”

“There was an accident,” Arthur breathed, looking back at the fire. “A band of sorcerers took him from us because they needed his blood for a ritual of some kind. He woke and, when he saw his arm . . .” Arthur stopped. He turned to Hunith, his eyes looking hurt and lost. “He thought it was him,” he said. “He thought that he had done it to himself. I never thought—“ Arthur’s voice caught in his throat and he looked away from her again, gazing down at the hearth with glassy eyes.

It was silent for a while. The only noise was the crackle of the fire and Arthur breathing heavily through his nose. Then, destroying the mute, Hunith said, “He tried once.”

Arthur looked up at that, fighting back tears that threatened to fall. “What?” he asked. His voice cracked.

Hunith hummed again before giving her explanation. “It was after a rather brutal incident when some of the village locals caught him going to the well for water. I usually was the one to go but . . . I was sick and we needed water, so he went. They beat him brutally. He hid it from me, though. He was old enough by then to take care of himself, or at least he thought so.

“He didn’t tell me when he came home. He just brought the water in and helped me to bed. I woke up to a strange sound and managed to walk in here. He was sat, over there,” she pointed, “in the corner. He was scratching himself, scratching at his wrist with his nails. When he saw me he stopped and he ran from the house.

“He disappeared for a few days; went to the caves most likely. I was better by the time he came home. He didn’t speak for days after that. When he did . . . the first thing he said was . . .” Hunith stopped and took a deep, shuddery breath. “He said, ‘I’m a monster and all anyone wants from me is for me to be dead.’ And then he wouldn’t speak again. He pretended it never happened. He bandaged his own wrist, wouldn’t let me touch it.

“I caught him, one more time, trying to scratch it again, reopen the wound. That time, when he saw me, he cried. He cried all night.” She looked to Arthur then. “Merlin never cries,” she told him. “Not unless something is truly upsetting him. And even then . . .” she trailed off.

Arthur stayed silent. He looked out the window as he took in the information he was just given. It was dark out now and he could see the stars glistening. They were brighter in Ealdor than they were in Camelot where the lights drowned them out. He could see so much more of them from Merlin’s home and it made him wonder how much more Merlin saw than he did. How many experiences had he hidden over the years? Merlin was a private man, Arthur realized. He did not even wish to share his struggles with his own mother. He wondered how much pain Merlin was in, was _constantly_ in.

“It’s amazing,” Arthur said, still gazing out at the stars. “Merlin seems to be the bravest of them all and he hasn’t even got a sword in his belt.” He looked down at Hunith and she smiled.

“I’m glad you accept him,” she said.

“I can’t imagine what it must be like for him,” Arthur murmured. “It’s seems to me now like he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders.”

Hunith huffed. “I imagine he does, looking after you and all.”

Arthur scoffed. “I wish I had known,” he said woefully. “And yet, at the same time, I wish I never found out.”

“He’s wanted to tell you,” Hunith said. “Since the beginning, he’s wanted so much to tell you.”

“Why?” Arthur questioned. “Of all people, why would he share it with me?”

“He cares for you,” Hunith elaborated. “He’d sacrifice life and limb for you. And he has done.”

“But why?”

“Because you’re his friend,” Hunith said sincerely.

Arthur looked at Hunith strangely then. It wasn’t often that the king admitted how close he really was with his servant. It wasn’t appropriate and it wasn’t respected. But now he was sitting in the confines of a small shack, sitting by the fire with a peasant woman as her equal. He could say anything he wished and suddenly, he realized how Merlin might have felt. He was safe whilst he was within the four walls of his home. And yet, he felt like, at any moment, someone could come barging in and catch him in the act of admitting his fondness for Merlin. But he didn’t care. Arthur nodded with a melancholy smile spread across his face and said, “And he is mine.”

It was silent for another spell of time, both of them looking into the fire with wistful thinking. It was well into the night that they sat together, taking comfort in the other’s presence.

“How long did it take you?” Hunith asked, breaking the blissful lull.

“What?”

“To come to terms with everything, I mean,” she clarified.

Arthur sighed and looked into the slowly dying fire again. “We had a long talk,” he said. “He told me everything, everything that happened here.” He glanced around as if to gesture to the entire village. “He told me so much I never even thought possible.”

Hunith hummed. “It’s even hard for me to believe that he has as much power as he does.”

“What do you mean?” Arthur questioned, not understanding the statement.

“He’s written to me, on occasion,” she said. “Though, I get most of my information about what’s going on in Camelot from Gaius. Merlin’s not the kind of person to tell people when something’s bothering him. Apparently the Druids look up to him, see him as some kind of beacon of hope.”

Arthur was startled by that. “Why would the _Druids_ look up to _Merlin?”_

Hunith let out a small laugh. “He’s destined to protect you, Arthur; surely he’s told you that.”

Arthur adjusted in his seat to face Hunith more directly. There was a longing look in his eyes which bid the woman to continue.

“Ever since he arrived in Camelot he’s been told time and time again that he has to use his gifts to help you bring peace to the five kingdoms, become the ruler of Albion. The once and future king, I believe they called you. He’s more powerful than any man who’s ever lived. He didn’t know what to do with himself when he was here and he couldn’t control it. It was soon after I found him that night, scratching at his arm, that I sent to him get help from Gaius.”

Arthur gaped at her. He was completely beside himself and had no idea what she was saying. For a moment he could have deemed her mad. “Powerful how?”

“He’s not like the others,” Hunith told him, completely unaware of his obliviousness. “He was born with magic.”

Arthur froze. He looked at Hunith with disbelieving eyes. He let out a shaky breath he didn’t know he was holding and said, very slowly, “Merlin has magic?”

Hunith’s eyes went wide and she stared back at Arthur. “You didn’t know?”

“No,” Arthur breathed. “No, he . . . he told me about the beatings and being a _bastard child,_ not . . .” He was shaking, he realized, as he stared back at her in shock. Suddenly, he stood. “I should go,” he blurted, looking back and forth as if he’d forgotten his way to the door.

“No!” Hunith cried, reaching out and grabbing his arm in attempts to pull him back down to his seat. “No, please, let me—“

“No, I need to get back to Camelot I need to—“

“Arthur!” she cried. “Arthur, you must understand things before you—“ _Smack!_

Hunith let go of Arthur as she sprawled back onto the floor. Arthur looked down at her, not fully realizing what he had done. He looked frightfully down at his hand and then back to the women he had hit, covering her cheek with a shaking hand.

“I’m so sorry,” Arthur said as he knelt down beside her, helping her back into her chair. “I didn’t mean to . . . I was . . . god, Merlin . . .” Arthur sat down beside her and looked hopelessly into the fire.Then, he burst back to life and held Hunith’s head in his hands. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she hummed. “I’m fine.” She took Arthur’s hands in hers and placed them back into his lap.

“No,” Arthur countered. “I shouldn’t have hit you, I didn’t—“

“It’s alright, Arthur,” Hunith argued. “You didn’t mean it.”

Arthur looked at her, bewildered. He had just hit her, unjustly, and yet she sat before him, forgiving him. It had been instinctual, his mind reeling with new information. He felt like he needed to get away, needed to be alone. He didn’t know where he wanted to go, but he wanted to think. Instead, he stayed, still numb and shaking, before the mother of the man he barely knew.

“Here,” Hunith said, drawing Arthur out of his thoughts. She held out a bundle of letters, tied together with string. Arthur took them and looked up at her questioningly. “Most of them are from Gaius. They’re all about Merlin, though.” She laughed anxiously.

Arthur could feel the tension between them as he took the letters from her. He pulled the string loose and unfolded the first one. It was from Gaius and it was recent. It talked about Uther’s death and the toll it took on Merlin. It spoke of how he blamed himself and worried for Arthur. It spoke of Gaius’s concern for the boy. When he finished reading it, Arthur huffed and said, “Why would he blame himself for my father’s death?”

“He tried to heal him,” Hunith said, and Arthur looked down at the last letter.  

It was written rather frantically and it was from Merlin. It revealed to Arthur that the sorcerer that had tried to restore his father’s health was, in fact, his servant. His brow creased with conflicted anger until he read that Morgana had tampered with his spell. He read sadly on as Merlin described how hopeless he was and how far away from Arthur he felt. Arthur gulped and looked up to see Hunith nervously wringing out her skirt.

“That was the first letter I’ve gotten from him in a long time,” she said. “I don’t think he would have written it if it weren’t for how lonely he felt. He feels Gaius cannot talk to him, like he doesn’t understand.”

Arthur hummed in understanding and numbly read on, learning about the fates Merlin has denied over the years; defeating the immortal army, poisoning Morgana, saving Arthur’s life time and time again. Arthur couldn’t fathom it all. All these years, he thought Merlin spent his free time gallivanting in the tavern or going on pointless walks in the woods, but he had been risking his own skin to protect Arthur from anything and everything that came his way. Hunith broke in as he neared the end of the pile and they talked on and on about all the things Merlin had done. Hunith sharing with him the stories she’d heard and Arthur recalling his side of the events, making wondrous connections between Merlin and their seemingly miraculous successes. He had done so much for him. He had lost so much; a father, a lover, and many friends. He was such a self-sacrificing fool and Arthur thought him honorable for it. As he learned more and more about his friend, his view on magic became twisted and morphed into something different, something far from evil. It were as if Merlin were there, taking his mind and gently molding it until all was right.

There were very few letters and yet they told him so much. Arthur could see past the paper, knew that there was far more amazing acts that Merlin had performed. Suddenly he could look back at everything he’d ever done and realize that Merlin had always been by his side, no matter what.

When he and Hunith’s conversation came to a close, the weary woman pulled a letter from Arthur’s hand and held it out to him. Arthur took it and marveled at how old the parchment was. He carefully unfolded it and began to read;

_Dear Mother,_

_It’s been a little over two weeks since I have arrived in Camelot and I am glad to say that I already feel more whole here. Gaius has gifted me with a book of spells for me to practice with and I am becoming far better at controlling my powers. I have also been employed. Upon saving the life of the prince I was offered the position of his personal manservant. It’s awful, truly. However, a powerful being told me that I had a destiny to share with this man, that it is my duty to protect him and bring upon a better world for all. I didn’t believe it at first. The prince is as arrogant as any royal. He’s a prat, if you ask me. But, already I am beginning to see something in him. He’s been kind in a way. I dare say we have become friends and I believe now more than ever that things will be alright. I hope that, perhaps, one day I may even tell him. I have found my purpose. Everything is getting better._

_—Merlin_

Arthur held the letter in his hand, rubbing at the old parchment with his thumb, and just let it soak into him. Then, he laughed and rubbed his hand down his face, wiping the tears from his eyes before they could fall. He laughed again. “He has magic,” he said, aghast, “and . . . I don’t . . . I can’t seem to find anything _wrong_ with it.”

Hunith smiled at him and put her hand on his comfortingly.

“But it feels wrong,” Arthur said, looking up to her as I she were his own mother. “And yet, it makes sense.”

“I only wish he were the one to tell you,” Hunith admitted, rubbing his hand soothingly.

“I knew there was something more,” he added, “that there was something else that was bothering him.”

They fell mute again and they sat there for a long time, Hunith comforting him immensely. Eventually, she led him to her bed and he fell asleep before he even hit the pillow, utterly exhausted.

 

 

Arthur awoke to the smell of porridge cooking over the fire. He groggily sat up in bed and watched with a smile as Hunith mixed the ingredients while humming an off tune. She brought a hot bowl of it to Arthur and he accepted it. They ate together, not saying much, just enjoying the meal, no matter how strange it may have tasted to the king.

When he finished he jumped up and said with a voice full of realization, “I have to go! I have to go talk to him!”

Hunith pulled him back down to sit and offered him some water. He took it with a shaking hand.

“He will be there when you return,” she advised, taking his dishes from him and putting them in the kitchen to later be cleaned. She returned and gave Arthur one of Merlin’s letters, the very first one he ever wrote. “You keep it.”

“No.” Arthur denied, seeing that it was the first letter Merlin had wrote. “No, you—it’s yours.”

Hunith shook her head. “Take it.”

“Thank you,” Arthur murmured, tucking the note into his belt. “Thank you, for everything.”

 

 

Arthur left, leaving a pouch of gold under his pillow for Hunith to receive without argument. He felt he needed to give her something, something for taking care of Merlin, raising him to be such wondrous boy. He could never amount to the thanks she deserved, but he could give her that.

He made it back to Camelot a little while before dawn of the third day of his absence. He took his horse to the stables himself, feeling strangely compelled not to burden a servant with it and then went straight to Gaius’s chambers.

The old man was already up and about, early as he often was, running his finger down the lines of a book. “Sire,” he greeted, coming to meet the king. “What is it?”

“Where is Merlin?” he asked softly. “I was hoping I could speak with him.”

“I’m unsure,” Gaius said. “He was not here when I woke up this morning.”

Arthur smiled, despite the lack of an answer. “Thank you, Gaius.”

 

 

After asking around, he finally found a guard who had seen Merlin in the early hours of the morning, headed up to the battlement where he and Arthur would often talk whilst looking over the city. Arthur smiled at that and eagerly climbed the stairs to meet him. However, when he arrived, there was no one there. Only the grey morning sky was there to greet him. He looked around and saw that the door to a nearby tower was open. The tower was unused so he crept through curiously and raced up the stairs, feeling _sure_ that this was where Merlin had gone.

But, when he reached the top, his smiled faded. There, standing in the brisk, cold wind, was Merlin, balancing on the parapet of the highest tower.

“Merlin!” Arthur called, seeing how close the servant was to the edge. Merlin did not move. He didn’t even acknowledge him. He just stared out onto the vast city before him, wind billowing about his hair. Arthur held his breath as he seemed to sway dangerously back and forth in the breeze. His heart dropped at the sight of his dearest friend peering over the edge of a deadly drop.

“Merlin, come away from there,” Arthur said, walking slowly towards him. He received no answer. “Merlin,” he coaxed. “Merlin, what are you doing out here?”

There was short moment of silence, though it seemed to stretch on forever. “Thinking,” Merlin replied, voice void of emotion.

“What are you thinking about?” Arthur asked, completely at a loss as to what he should do.

“Flying,” Merlin said, as he seemed to way forward a bit more, before leaning back and steadying himself again. Arthur’s heart twisted at the sight.

“You need to come down from there, Merlin,” Arthur said. “It’s alright. You know that.”

Merlin shook his head. “No.”

“Yes,” Arthur said. “You’re safe in Camelot, remember? I promise, I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“No,” Merlin said again, still not looking away from the ground below.

“Merlin,” Arthur breathed, edging closer. “Merlin, you need to listen to me. You need to come down from there. I don’t want you to fall.”

Merlin breathed out a laugh through his nose. “I won’t fall,” he said, voice still monotone.

“Why won’t you come down?” Arthur questioned.

“I don’t know anyone,” Merlin answered.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m alone,” Merlin continued.

“No, Merlin,” Arthur countered. “No, I’m right here. Come down from there.”

Merlin said nothing. He just continued to sway.

“Merlin,” Arthur choked. “Merlin, I know you. I know you now. You can talk to me.”

Merlin shook his head.

Arthur was so close to Merlin now that he could feel the air moving around him. He could see Merlin’s face; the way his eyes looked down at the cobblestones below, the way the light was gone from them, the way they looked so empty.

“Merlin, I know,” Arthur said quietly. “I know all the things you’ve been through and I’m sorry. I need you to come down, now.”

“No,” Merlin said, shaking his head more vigorously, despair seeping into his voice. “No, you don’t know. You don’t know. I can’t . . . You don’t _know.”_ Merlin’s voice cracked and his hands formed fists as he choked back a sob. 

Arthur could see the way Merlin shook, the way he trembled with emotions that overwhelmed him. He needed to get him down from there, away from the edge. He needed Merlin safe for both their sakes. He needed to say something that would bring him back, bring _Merlin_ back. So, he took a deep, readying breath and, with caution, said; “I _do_ know Merlin! Come down from there! _I know about your magic!”_

Merlin looked down at Arthur with wide eyes. Arthur only caught them for a moment as their gazes locked together. In that _second,_ he could see all the hurt and the pain that Merlin had kept bottled up for so long swimming in the blue pools or his iris and gleaming with pain. But it was only a second, a second that passed too soon, for Merlin then pitched forwards.

 “No!” Arthur screamed, reaching out and grabbing Merlin by the wrist and yanking him back in. The boy spun on the parapet before his feet slid from underneath him. Arthur latched onto Merlin with all his might and pulled him over the edge with all the strength he had until he was stable behind the wall.

Arthur pulled Merlin close and enveloped him in his arms, desperate to keep him down, despite the fact that he was in no way struggling to get up. Instead, Merlin burrowed into Arthur, sobbing with a hitched breath, each gasp and gulp of air wailing in his throat.

“I’m sorry!” Merlin cried. “I’m sorry!” He let out another long wail of desperation. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled into Arthur’s chest. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry . . .” His shoulders bobbed as he heaved each breath, holding on tight to Arthur, as if he too were afraid he’d try to jump again.

“It’s okay, Merlin,” Arthur soothed. “It’s alright.” He rubbed Merlin’s back and pulled him closer. “It’s alright. Everything is going to be fine. I know now, Merlin. _I know.”_

And the two of them sat there, both too numb to move, for hours before anyone found them. Merlin’s sobs subdued but he remained in Arthur’s lap, clinging to his friend as if the entire world wished to tear him away again. Eventually, as the sun rose and doused the pair with golden light, Arthur brought Merlin’s head up and made him look at him, the hurt still present in his eyes. Arthur smiled sadly down at him. The look in the king’s eyes spoke volumes. They were beyond words. Just by looking into him, Merlin knew that Arthur was still his friend and that everything was going to be okay. He could see the way he longed for Merlin, for him to be alright. In that one look, he knew that little had changed, and, at the same time, _so much_ had.

“Come on,” Arthur said, helping Merlin to his feet and guiding him away from the ledge. “Let’s go home.”

And, as Arthur carried Merlin back down the tower’s spiraling stairs and he stepped out into the morning sunlight, Merlin knew that things were going to get better.


End file.
